


Privileged Communications

by bissonomy (Macdicilla)



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Injury Recovery, M/M, mild canon tailoring, secret marriage (implied), set during The Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 03:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdicilla/pseuds/bissonomy
Summary: “You’re confused, Mr Drumknott,” William said, trying to be kind, “clerks and employers don’t have privileged communications. You’re thinking of doctors, or spouses.”“I am not confused.”





	Privileged Communications

Grudgingly, Commander Vimes had granted Mr de Worde permission to visit the cells. Vimes had seemed impressed with him for working out that Lord Vetinari’s dog was important to the whole business, and William supposed that he’d earned some measure of gratitude by agreeing to print a wanted ad for the dog in the paper.

Vimes didn’t exactly trust him, but William was fine with that. Not trusting people was sort of the man’s job. 

William couldn’t speak to Vetinari, since he was a prisoner, and moreover, still unconscious, but there was no rule against him speaking to Drumknott. Besides, Vimes had said, it wouldn’t do for people to think he was dead.

* * *

One of the watch Sergeants, a woman named Angua, led William down to the cells. She opened a door off the main cell corridor and called out:

“Visitor for the patients, Igor.”

“Right with you, Thargent.”

William peered into the room. He noticed jars with strange things floating inside them, some of them moving, and a machine apparently made of copper balls, glass rods, and electric discharges. It gave the room a weird, flickering blue light. What mainly caught his attention was a face made out of a network of scars, with uneven ears and mismatched eyes. It smiled at him.

He managed, with some difficulty, not to scream.

“Igor here is part of our forensic department,” Sergeant Angua said calmly. “Igor, this is Mr de Worde. He’s here to see your patients.”

There was a pause, and William saw him glance at the Sergeant.

“Mister Vimes says it’s okay,” she added.

“Right,” he said. “Pleased to meet you, Mr de Worde. It’th nice to get visitors down here.” 

“I’ll jutht go and get the keys, then,” he added, lurching past them towards a cupboard at the end of the hall.

“Why does he only lisp some of his esses?” William asked.

“He’s very modern,” Angua said. “Never met an Igor?”

“Not one like that, no! He’s got two thumbs on his right hand!”

“He’s from Uberwald. Igors are a clan of very skilled surgeons. Keen on self-improvement, as you noticed.”

“Here we are,” said Igor, returning with the keys. “Who are you seeing first?”

William tried his luck.

“Lord Vetinari?”

“He’th still asleep,” Igor said. “Caught himself a nasty blow.”

Angua coughed.

“Didn’t he fall off a horse?” William asked.

“Well, yeth,” Igor said carefully, watching Angua. “Caught himself a nathty blow when he fell, probably.”

Igor turned the key and opened the door. In the cell, on a narrow bed, Lord Vetinari lay peacefully. He looked a bit pale, William thought.

“So he hasn’t woken up at all?”

Igor nodded. 

“It can be like that somethimeth,” he said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on him–”

Here, William inwardly shuddered, because looking at a face like Igor’s made him picture it literally.

“–and he’th been like that the whole time. Sometimes the body just says: thleep.”

“I hear he hardly ever sleeps,” William quipped.

“Then it’ll do him good to catch up on it,” said Igor, gently closing the door. He unlocked the next cell door.

Drumknott was sitting up in bed. Or, more accurately, he was propped up on a mass of pillows. His eyes were closed, his head was bandaged, his arm was in a sling, and some strands of thin, ruddy-brown hair clung to his damp forehead. A few seconds after the door clicked open, he muzzily turned his head to face the entrance and opened his eyes.

“And how are we?” said Igor, as cheerfully as a face full of stitches would allow.

“I’m feeling better, thank you, Mr Igor,” Drumknott said slowly. “I think I can go home to the palace now, if that’s fine. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“That will be the painkillers working, Mithter Drumknott,” Igor said kindly. “You’d best stay a little while longer. We’ve brought you soup–er, thoup.”

At the mention of “we,” the young man’s gaze landed on William. He stared at him, uncertain, as if he hadn’t noticed he was in the room before.

“Just put it on the bedside table, thanks,” said Drumknott. His eyes were still fixed on William. 

“You’re Lord de Worde’s boy,” he said. “You write that news sheet.”

“Mr. de Worde here would like to talk to you,” explained Sergeant Angua. “I’ll go help Igor sort out his eyeballs, or something.”

“No, no,” said Drumknott, “you can stay, Sergeant. I’d like to speak to Lord Vetinari, if I could?”

Angua hesitated for a fraction of a second, but William noticed.

“I don’t think I can permit that, Mr Drumknott,” she said gently.

Drumknott nodded, without seeming to understand. Whatever medicine he’d been given had been potent. He had an unfocused look about him, and when he spoke, it seemed he was spending most of the effort on concentrating. A faint accent was slipping out. It wasn’t by any means from the shades, but still from what William’s father would have thought of as the wrong side of the river.

“I must see him,” Drumknott said calmly. “Please,” he added, for good measure.

“I’m sure you’re aware why it’s not a good idea,” Angua said.

“Um. They say he stabbed you,” William added helpfully.

“So they say,” Drumknott said, narrowing his eyes at him, “but I have full confidence that there has been a mistake. Sergeant Angua, please, I have every right to visit him in prison.”

“I know, I know,” said Angua, looking a bit pained. 

“Then?”

“Look,” Angua sighed, “he can’t see you now, Mr Drumknott. He’s sleeping.”

“Well, wake him up,” Drumknott insisted. “He’s a light sleeper.”

Good gods, William thought, he was _ worried _. Angua hesitated again, then turned her head over her shoulder, as if hearing something.

“I’ll be right there,” she said, to no one at all.

William wondered why she didn’t just tell him the truth. It would be so easy to Mr Drumknott the truth that the Patrician was in a coma, and then he’d stop asking.

“I’ll leave you two to your chat,” she said to William. “I’ll be with Igor down the hall.”

The cell door closed and William was left in an awkward silence. Drumknott seemed to be in no rush to break it.

“So, er, could you clarify what happened?” William asked.

“Possibly.”

“You were there, though,” he pointed out.

The clerk sighed.

“I knocked on the door to take His Lordship the copy of the _ Times _, as he’d requested. He opened it, I walked into the room, and..” he paused here, thinking, filtering his words.

“And the next thing I know, I was waking up in this room, with Mr Igor looking at me.”

“That must have come as a shock,” said William, with a momentary flash of pride at the mention of his news-paper.

“Mr Igor is a good surgeon,” Drumknott said. “I’d have lost the use of my arm without his skill.”

“Your head’s bandged, too,” William noted.

“I think I must have fallen, when...when whatever it was happened.”

It seemed to William that the man was _ embarrassed _ . The facts didn’t line up for _ him _ either. 

“Do you know that three people heard Lord Vetinari say he’d killed you?” 

“I cannot explain that. They must have been mistaken,” said Drumknott sharply.

Any moment, now, William thought, any moment he’ll snap. Probably no one had seen Drumknott snap. If he had a personality, he kept it safely bundled up deep within.

“Has His Lordship been preoccupied lately?” he asked.

“That’s privileged communications, Mr de Worde,” Drumknott answered flatly. “I don’t have to tell you.”

“You’re confused, Mr Drumknott,” William said, trying to be kind, “clerks and employers don’t have privileged communications. You’re thinking of doctors, or spouses.”

“I am _ not _ confused.”

“In any case,” William went on, “this isn’t a court of law–”

“No,” said Drumknott, “it’s a court of public opinion, isn’t it? It works completely differently. Good thing, too. I don’t have to talk to you at all, do I?”

“No, but–”

“And if I _ were _ confused, it wouldn’t be fair to interview me, would it?”

“Well, I–”

_ “Sergeant!” _Drumknott shouted.

William winced. He hadn’t anticipated the little man was capable of such a loud volume. There were swift footsteps and the door opened.

“Yes?” said Sergeant Angua.

“The gentleman and I are done now,” Drumknott said softly, “and I am tired.”

William sighed and put his notebook away.

“Thanks,” he said, “you’ve been...very helpful.”

As he walked down the corridor, he said,

“He doesn’t want to believe His Lordship might have attacked him.”

“Really,” said the sergeant.

“He seems _ very _ certain he didn’t.”

“Does he?”

“Looks like quite a bang he had on his head,” William went on. “Look, even I can tell this smells funny.”

“Can you?”

“I _ see _,” said Williams. “You’re a graduate of the Mister Vimes School of Communication, yes?”

“Am I?”

“Loyalty is a fascinating thing. Mr. Drumknott is quite–”

Angua gave him a funny look.

“Is it? The way out is _ this _ way–”

* * *

After she’d ushered William out into the street, she went back upstairs to Vimes’ office and quietly shut the door behind her.

“So he knows we’re having him followed, but he’s only spotted the gargoyles?” said Vimes, who was watching William walk down the street.

“Apparently,” said Angua, “but I wouldn’t underestimate him, sir. He’s observant enough. I mean, he was dead right about the peppermint bomb. And how many officers would have noticed how deep that crossbow bolt went into the floor?”

“Unfortunately true,” Vimes sighed. “What about Mr Drumknott? How’s he doing?”

“He’s healing,” she said. “Igor’s got him on painkillers and cat tranquilizers, but he seems pretty distressed. And he’s still asking to see Vetinari. He’s worried about him. I haven’t told him Vetinari’s in a coma yet.”

Vimes sighed.

“It’s only natural he’s worried. And he’s got to know sooner or later, hasn’t he?”

Angua thought to herself that she’d be hopping mad if something happened to Carrot and nobody told her. 

“Yes,” she said.

“It feels rotten keeping them apart,” she continued, “and I’m sure he didn’t stab him either, but–”

“I know,” Vimes said kindly, “I know.”

“You don’t think the de Worde lad picked up on...on them?” he added, after a pause. “They’re very private. They’d hate it if it got out everywhere.”

Sergeant Angua shook her head. 

“I was listening to them, and I can’t say for sure, but he didn’t seem to. I don’t think he’s the sort to put it in the paper, though. He’s not nasty, and he’s got _ some _sense.”

“Not enough sense. What are the odds on him? I know _ somebody’s _ running a book on Mr de Worde. Watchmen are watchmen. It’s always the same in the duty room.”

“Well...six dollars to ten he’ll be dead by Monday, sir.”

Vimes stared at the ceiling.

“Hmm,” he said. “And take the book off Nobby when you get the chance, will you? I don’t want people to get the idea that I’m for that sort of thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> I changed very little and paraphrased so much.


End file.
